


One-on-One [Commission]

by bexacaust



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Hate Sex, Humanformers, Jealousy, M/M, Rival Relationship, Rivalry, commission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 10:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18776308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bexacaust/pseuds/bexacaust
Summary: “The Scholars of Altihex are not to be trusted.”, they warned him, “Their veils hide more than eyes and smiles, their robes hide more than bodies.”





	1. Meetings

Deadlock was not one to bother with frivolous superstitions. He never had been- preferring to believe what he witnessed with eyes that were sly by nature. He kept his position, posture slouched as he leaned nonchalantly against his Lord’s throne and filed claw-like nails tapping a one-two tattoo against the hilt of a scimitar at his hip.

Starscream, on the opposite side, shot him a glare after critically scanning the General’s position before Deadlock answered the glare with a frigid grin, “Eyes front.”, he said flatly, turning back to the glorified promenade that was the Grand Hall’s entrance.

An… attempt at peace was being made. Recovery from scalding war, where unnatural lightning had flown through skies scorched by the ashes of the dead and dying; where wind had been drowned out by the cries of the suffering masses on either side.

Now, at some kind of cease-fire with both sides depleted, words were weapons more than anything. Deadlock’s twin, Drift, stood at ease beside a visiting King who would not meet Megatron’s pale gray eyes alongside Prowl- ever scribbling his notes and sometimes-incantations.

The Wreckers stood alongside the Guard, chaos beside order and uneven in numbers- something that made a sense of foreboding rise in Deadlock’s chest as he turned back to the arriving guests.

Kaon was a realm of fierce spirit and hard competition- and this would be no different.

“Presenting to His Majesty; The Scholar’s Council of Kimia at Altihex University!”

“Roberunners.”, snorted Deadlock as Starscream glared at him again and hissed for him to be respectful. Megatron chuckled to himself at Deadlock and Starscream’s bickering, relaxing in his seat as he watched the lines of fur-edged robes seem to float in on unholy power. Most wore a veil that hung from the nose to their chest, done in blues and golds in alternating color- Until Xaaron himself.

At his left stood the one known as the Alchemist- a creator of magical entropy known for his reedy laugh and wild gold eyes. His golden veil was streaked in whites and greens in varying shades and his robes were draped around his shoulders moreso than worn.

But it was the mage upon Xaaron’s right hand that made Deadlock swallow his growl.

His veil was black, and hung over the right side of his face like a shadow. His expression was cold, his posture painfully rigid, and his steps clicked like old crossbow gears. His robes hung from his waist, showing the armor that covered his chest and arms. Thick and light, leatherbound and silk-padded, he did not cast down his eyes when greeted with the Hellsent King of Kaon.

“Seekerbane.”, hissed Starscream.

Deadlock’s eyebrows rose high, nearly touching his hairline as this… warrior-mage looked to Starscream and smiled with no joy reaching his visible eye.

“Moving target.”, he answered, his accent clipped and precise.

Xaaron glanced at him, clearing his throat, and placing silence upon the mage once more. Xaaron folded his arms, hand vanishing into wide embroidered sleeves as he bowed low, “...Greetings, Highness. We thank you for your… invitation; given our lands’ previous… disagreements.”

“Be at peace.”, was Megatron’s answer, “No need for old blood to stain this meeting.”

Xaaron straightened, turning to his right and nodding sharply at the scholar who stood silent. They bowed, and broke away from the entourage towards-

“The Wreckers employed a slip of a thing like that?”, mused Deadlock at Megatron’s ear.

“He is known as Seekerbane.”, was the hummed answer, “Silent as the shadows and supposedly untouchable by Death- not to say Death has not tried. His name, from what I have been told, is Perceptor. He will be competing with the lot of you.”

“Pity on him, I suppose.”, chuckled the General, “I hate t’break such an ego so publicly.”

“I’m sure he feels much the same about you.”

Deadlock looked offended at the idea, but then the announcements began again and he returned to his disinterested posture-

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise at the menthol-cool stare directed at him.


	2. Information Broker

After a full day of too-wordy greeting and too-fancy titles, Deadlock was tired of rank and file frippery. Against his will, it seemed, his twin decided Now was a good time to talk- much to Deadlock’s eternal annoyance.

Deadlock rolled his eyes at Drift’s insistence to speak with the Priests of New Crystal Citadel of the far north lands; demands that fell upon disinterested ears and an even worse expression as Drift followed Deadlock with words growing ever angrier. All the way through the halls, into Deadlock’s own quarters even; Drift followed and continued to make a case that was dead in the water before it ever managed to float even as Deadlock began to strip off his armor and pull on his looser silks- gathering his braids into a thick tail to hang down his bare back.

“MUST you dress so vulgar?”

Deadlock looked up, “Must you never shut the hell up?”

Drift put a hand to his chest, expression deadpan, “I worry for you, brother-dear.”

“Please don’t.”, was the flat answer as Deadlock slid his feet into shoes softer than his normal boots, “Your worry’s done nothin’ for me all these years, I don’t need it now.”

“Deadlock, I SAW how you and Perce glared at each other, I just want to avoid-”

“You know him?”, asked Deadlock, interrupting his brother and ignoring the twin’s displeasure, “Whaddya know of him? How long have you known him? What info can you give me?”

“Nothing that can’t be found out by asking Xaaron, or any of the Wreckers.”

“Like hell I’m gonna talk to a big-britches Scholar or a buncha maniacs. Now what can YOU tell me, I’m askin’ YOU.”

Drift sighed, “He was a mage among the scholars, obviously. Was one of the rare few with a gift for… darker abilities. These attracted Prowl who. Well. He put them to use, so to speak. Remember Kup? The old General?”

Deadlock nodded, “Mm. Didn’t he die in a one man battle against a whole squadron or wraiths?”

“Yes. He did. You also saw him walk in with the Wreckers.”

Deadlock jolted, looking at his twin in alarm, “Perceptor’s a...”

“Necromancer, for lack of a better term, yes. No one is quite sure HOW, but he and Brainstorm cracked it. One minute, Kup was in repose; the next day, he reported to Optimus and asked for his new orders. Not even a scar visible on him. Prowl sent him as a ‘healer’ for the Wreckers and… it all went south. You remember Turmoil?”

Deadlock hissed, “We AGREED to not talk about that foul-mouthed braindead sonuva-”

“He was Perceptor’s murderer.”

Silence met the statement as Drift looked furtively about before moving to the door and closing it firmly, “What I am about to tell you doesn’t leave this room, understood? This goes to no King, no Priest, no one. Am I crystal clear, brother?”

“Yes, of course. What… What happened?”

Drift sighed, “It was all something of a blur. I arrived at the fortress with the intent to find you- Having heard you’d been reassigned. The Wreckers were already there, sent with the intent of destruction. Perceptor was fighting the wards upon the atrium doors and… there was a flash, and then Perceptor was on the ground. He was… Primus, Deadlock. His chest had been burnt completely out, his eye had burst- Or so I thought.”

Deadlock sat upon his bed as he listened, wide-eyed.

“The Wreckers intended to leave him there, thinking he’d be killed and they’d no longer have to handle traveling with one who danced with the realm of the dead- but you know how I am.”

“Unfortunately.”

“I saved him, I thought. I brought him back to their caravan on foot, carried him the whole way as he was still and cold, wasn’t breathing. I had intended to demand they at least bring him to Altihex, to lay him in the catacombs but Springer nearly shrieked when I showed up and Perceptor opened his eye.”

“...He what.”

Drift nodded, “He opened his eye, tried to speak, but… something- leaked. From his mouth. I ran to his tent, set him upon his cot and began looking for bandages, something even thought I could SEE THROUGH his chest but all I found was a book. A Grimmoire. He called it to him, he opened it and I saw- Deadlock, I saw where he kept his heart.”

“Primus.”, breathed Deadlock, “Then why did he stand with the Wreckers?”

“They fear him.”, said Drift with a weak laugh, “They slighted one who has the ear of Death, they fear what he’ll do should they abandon him again. He became a warrior, one who fights with the hand of death himself.”

“So… him being called Seekerbane...”

“They can’t catch him. Can’t find him. He’s cut their wings many times now, with a smile.”

Deadlock fell quiet again, pondering the information he was given. Slowly, a grin blossomed on his face as he tapped at his bottom lip with two claws together.

“This oughta be fun… Where’s he at now?”

“Deadlock, what are you planning.”

“Maybe I wanna see him for myself, without the flippant crap.”

Drift looked exasperated, “Deadlock, this isn’t a CHALLENGE, he could LEGITIMATELY kill you-”

“They thought the same about a lotta people, Drift.”, said Deadlock, his voice darkening, “And tell me again how all that ended.”

Drift sighed, “He’s at the tavern with The Alchemist, Brainstorm. Be CAREFUL.”

“You only tell me t’be careful when it’s someone you gotta thing for, brother-mine.”

“DEADLOCK THAT IS NONE OF YOUR-”

“Ah-HA! THE TRUTH WILL OUT, THE HOLY MAN HAS THE HOTS FOR DEATH INCARNATE.”

“IT’S NOT LIKE THAT-”

“Frisky and risky, I can dig it.”

With a yowl of anger, Drift gave chase, lunging for his twin only for Deadlock to duck and run for the door- yanking it open and bolting down the hall with a shirt in hand and a laugh bursting from his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com


	3. First Impressions

“Promise me you won’t while the night away here.”

“Brainstorm, honestly-”

“Percy. Promise me. I remember you coming home, I don’t want a repeat of it. Now, promise?”

Perceptor rolled his eye, nodding, “Yes, yes. I promise Brainstorm; I won’t be here all night. And I’ll stay mostly sober.”

Brainstorm gave him a long look, before nodding. He clapped a hand on Perceptor’s shoulder, giving it a careful squeeze before rising from his seat and stepping away. He pulled his robes tighter around his shoulders as he glanced once more back at Perceptor’s lonely existence before nearly shrieking when he collided with someone.

He glared forward, then up.

“Ah, the Brutish General. Come for a fight?”, he said snidely.

“I actually came for a drink, but if you’re offering-”

“Let him be, vagabond.”

Deadlock looked up, stepping aside to let Brainstorm pass with a haughty sniff into the evening light. Perceptor hadn’t graced the General with acknowledgment beyond his sharp-toned order; continuing to sip delicately at the glass he held in his hand.

“Whatcha gonna do, Reaper, take my soul?”

“You’d need a soul worth taking, ratfink.”

“Well that’s just rude.”

Perceptor looked at him, frowning, “Is there a reason you seek to pester me, little soldier boy?”

“Maybe I’m just curious about my opponents.”, said Deadlock easily, “Maybe I just wanna know why you gotta look at me like I spat on your slippers.”

Perceptor sniffed, “If you must know, I thought you were Drift. I learned recently you are, in fact, his brother. A twin, no less.”

“Is this a real nice way of saying ‘my condolences’?”

“It’s a nice way of saying keep away from me, worm.”

Deadlock leaned back, “A lot of vitriol for so slight a scholar.”

“Abandonment does that to you.”, was the spat answer.

“Abandonment?”, asked Deadlock, intrigued now, “Whaddya mean by that?”

“He pulled me out of some kind of perdition only to run out on me in the night, the coward.”, said Perceptor bitterly, “For a man who claims not kiss and tell, he certainly knows how to love and run.”

“Oh- OH.”, said Deadlock, “That… That kinda does sound like him, yeah.”

“Indeed. So I plan on destroying the both of you as revenge upon the morrow. Enjoy the humiliation wrought by your idiot brother. Good evening, General.”

And with that, Perceptor handed his payment to the wide-eyed bartender, stood, and marched out of the building. Deadlock bristled, clattering to his feet to follow him.

“OI! YOU DON’T GET T’TALK DOWN T’ME LIKE THAT!”

“I talk down to WHOMEVER I please!”

Deadlock stomped after him, the pair of them trading insults all the way back to palace in a decreasing volume until they were hissing at each other down the halls. Perceptor paused in front of the rooms he and the other scholars occupied, whirling in a flutter of embroidered robes and matte-sheen armor to face Deadlock- though the difference in their height resulted in him looking up at the General.

Deadlock grabbed the edge of Perceptor’s chest covering, hauling him close, “You’d be wise to keep a civil tongue, scholar- or I’ll rip it out and serve it to you roasted!”

“I’d like to see you try, knave.”, was the snarled answer, “Far stronger than you have tried and failed-”, Perceptor’s hand tightened around Deadlock’s wrist in a burning cold grip, making the General wince quietly, “And you’d be a favored puppet to dance before your foolhardy War-King.”

Deadlock released him, glaring as Perceptor’s frigid smile made the General’s stomach tighten.

“See you tomorrow, Deadlock.”

And a door slammed shut in the General’s face, while he bared his teeth a moment before stomping away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com


	4. Worst Impressions

The next morning, Deadlock readied himself for competition. Megatron entered his General’s quarters silently, taking a seat on the bed and waiting to be acknowledged with something like a smile on his face.

Deadlock noticed nothing, focused instead on preparing his weapons and muttering to himself before a look at the mirror alerted him to his visitor.

“Yessir?”

“I hear you had an altercation the previous evening?”

“Not really an altercation, more an argument. Why?”

Megatron laughed, “It is unwise to prod the robes of the dead, Lock.”

“Apparently my brother did a bit more’n PROD if y’get my meanin’. Slip of a scholar’s got a vendetta against me AND Drift now, an’ I didn’t even DO anything!”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, he an’ Drift had a bit of a thing goin’. Brother dearest neglected to mention that; also neglected t’mention he bolted from the necro’s bed without even a goodbye kiss.”

“Truly bad form.”

“It’s the religion, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Megatron let off a thunderstorm laugh, shaking his head, “Just, be careful General. I’d hate to lose you over such a petty argument.”

“Y’really think a willowy thing like that can ki-”

“I never said I’d lose you to battle, Deadlock. I know well where your desires take you. Just be careful; spitfire personalities tend to be catnip to beasts of our caliber.”

Deadlock scoffed, shouldering a quiver and bow, “Hell you mean by that?!”

“Starscream is not only brilliant, but alluring. And, quite honestly, he does this thing with his to-”

“AND THAT’S ALLA THAT I’M WILLIN’ T’HEAR!”

Megatron rumbled out another laugh, getting to his feet with a shake of his head, “Apologies, apologies. I didn’t mean to offend your tender sensibilities, General. Now, let us away- it is nearly time for the rounds to begin, and I believe the first match is you and your brother.”

“It’s always a good day when you pay me to bully the li’l twin.”

“Aren’t you only five minutes older?”

“Yeah, punishment for him bein’ six inches TALLER.”

Deadlock huffed at more laughter from his leader as they stepped out into the hall; feet making soft noise as they walked over carpeted stone floors. They chatted amicably, Deadlock feeling nerves winding like coils in his back as they neared the Great Hall where the competitors gathered alongside their own leaders. The scimitar at his hip glinted in answer to Drift’s twin straight blades as they nodded at each other, standing side by side and silent as Perceptor stood on the other end of the line.

“I see the best of the best have been gathered for this momentous day.”, began Megatron after he stood before his throne, “I am pleased to see such fine warriors within my halls. I rest assured you will all fight to the best of your ability to honor your lands and name and become the first Champion of the Realm!”

A low round of gentle applause from gathered nobility, and Deadlock resisted the urge to roll his eyes obnoxiously.

“However, before you enter the arena, there are a few… ground rules to be laid out.”, said Megatron with a toothy grin, “Bloodshed shall be permitted, within reason. Death is not an option; you fight to win, not to kill in my kingdom. Those with murderous intent shall face me, and we shall see how their spine fares against my skills. Given my history, I do not think any of you desire such a matchup.”

A few nervous titters in the line of warriors.

“Each match will continue as long as it must. The first ten rounds will be today, the next five after that. The third day will be a battle royale unless fate decrees otherwise.”

Drift leaned towards his brother, “What does he mean by that?”

“To win in Kaon, you must make it off the arena.”, murmured Deadlock, “It’s entirely possible for both competitors to lose.”

Drift hummed, and nodded, and Megatron continued to explain the manner in which the competition would go. The twins fidgeted, getting anxious for action when finally Megatron finished his speech.

“Turn away now, and enter the arena outside. And may Primus’s Grace be with you.”

Deadlock nearly ran ahead of the line, eager to show off his skills honed by years of war. His brother hooked a hand into the tail of braids on the General’s head, yanking sharply to keep him in place and earning a glare from the shorter twin.

The sun was bright and hot in the summery sky, the courtyard-turned-arena seemed empty and full all at once as the crowds seated around cheered for their respected heroes. Starscream stood in the center, half-cloak exposing the near-iridescent Vosian wings on his back as flickers of his fingers unrolled the scroll held before him, perched upon a tiny dustdevil.

“Our first match, Perceptor of Altihex and Blaster of Iacon! To the center of the arena!”

“Grudge match.”, murmured Drift to Deadlock, “Lots of bad blood between those two.”

“As much as between you and Perceptor, you chicken thief?”, growled Deadlock as he watched the fighters enter the arena, “Or were you just not going to tell me about your little Affair with the necromancer?”

Drift fell silent, and the pair turned back to watch.

“I thought we were first match, though.”, grumbled Deadlock.

“Starscream decided to randomize the order.”, said Brainstorm suddenly from the other side of the General; making both twins nearly jump out of their skin in shock, “Look how he’s positioned the scroll. Dark parchment, brass holder- that’s not Vosian, that is a Polyhexian ‘secret keeper’. Charmed in order to switch written orders. There’s a form of divination based upon it, I believe. A load of hooey, if you ask me, but some people believe it.”

Brainstorm looked at them both, his gaze at Drift icy and cruel before he turned to Deadlock, “Apologies for being rude last night, mate. Do me a favor though?”

“Depends on what it is.”

“Snap his swordblades, would you?”, he said coolly, nodding at Drift, “He’s earned it, for what he’s done.”

Deadlock turned slowly to Drift, “...You’re lucky Papa Gasket loved us both so damn much, y’know that?”

A shriek made all three turn back to the arena, to see Perceptor’s shortbow slowly droop down to fire his arrow between his feet as he stood too tall. Blaster howled in pain, on his knees already as Starscream whistled sharply for healers to rush the arena and part of the crowd fell eerily silent. Starscream turned to Perceptor, a hand out as if to warn him to stay back.

“The victor is Perceptor of Altihex!”

A cheer, Brainstorm laughing maniacally and applauding almost too fervently as the Wreckers stationed by Optimus seemed to go pale.

“What in the hell...”, said Drift, squinting to see the center of the arena.

“The good ol’ Reaper’s touch!”, cackled Brainstorm, “Let’s see the smarmy cad treat Perce like a servant NOW- he’ll be lucky to keep that arm of his- rot is a terrible thing to chase.”

“Rot?”, chimed both the twins.

Brainstorm nodded, “M’boy Percy knows how to weaponize hell, after all. Executioner’s bones as arrowheads and a shortbow made of gallow’s wood.”

Drift went pale.

“He carves his arrowheads himself with gold and obsidian tools- made them for him myself. Even poisoned ‘em for him.”, another cackle, “I am, after all, The Alchemist. My fellow Scholar, Ironfist- may he rest in Primus’s Grace, developed an excellent toxin I’ve been toying with. Good to know it’s effective!”

“The hell did you lot...”

“It’s called Gideon’s Glue.”, said Perceptor coolly, walking up the aisle to sit beside Brainstorm, “After Ironfist’s infamous miasma. Nonfatal, but excruciatingly painful. I figured it was appropriate.”

Brainstorm slung an arm around Perceptor’s shoulders with another reedy laugh, “And by Primus WAS it, I haven’t heard BIRDS hit that pitch!”

Perceptor smiled his cold smile, and nodded before turning back to watch the arena.

Drift shuddered, and Deadlock stared.

This was going to be interesting.

The battles passed them aimlessly, as the sun rose fully and sank slowly. Drift and Deadlock’s matching frowns increased in intensity as again and again- they were not called to the ring. Finally, as the ending match wound down, Deadlock got to his feet and stomped away, to demand answers from his Lord with fire in his eyes.

He was stopped by Starscream, with a wicked smile.

“The hell you think you’re doing, dodging me and my brother like this?!”

“Keeping a true spectacle for a later date.”, mused the Vosian, patting Deadlock’s cheek in a patronizing manner, “Besides- it would be a shame for you to face Perceptor before you faced your brother.”

“Says WHO?”  
  
“Logic.”, was Perceptor’s answer as he walked up behind Deadlock, followed by Drift and Brainstorm, “The fact remains that even if you managed to be crowned victorious, there’s no guarantee you would survive the scope of injury I intend to inflict on either you or your brother.”

Silence greeted his statement, and he nodded at Starscream, “If you need me for assistance with Blaster, I am certain you’ll be able to figure out where my quarters are.”

And he breezed by, carelessly nudging Deadlock out of the way as Brainstorm cackled before folding his hands into his sleeves, “That’s my Percy- always the realist.”

He followed on the warriormage’s heels, his eerie and nasal laughter breaking the silence like a falling chandelier.

Drift sighed, shaking his head, and turning to his twin- only to groan in annoyance, “Lock- Deadlock don’t-”

“COME BACK HERE YOU PINT SIZED FUCK.”

Starscream and Drift watched blandly as Deadlock took off after Perceptor and Brainstorm’s retreating backs, before Starscream laughed behind one hand in an attempt to muffle the sound. Drift turned to look at the Vosian consort, his question in his eyes before it reached his tongue and Starscream cleared his throat and straightened his posture.

“My Lord works in mysterious ways~”, he said with a grin, “And no one knows Deadlock quite like Megatron.”

“You hope.”

“Oh, I’m quite sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com


	5. The Blind Can See

Perceptor grinned as Brainstorm cackled at his side before they heard the bellow from behind them. Brainstorm shook his head, looking to Perceptor with a weakly amused expression, “I suppose I’ll leave you to your infamous diplomacy Percy. Remember, no murder.”

“I shall do my best.”

Brainstorm slipped away down one of many halls as Perceptor continued his trajectory, pointedly ignoring Deadlock as he marched up beside the necromancer with angry words already dripping from his lips. Perceptor’s eye was lidded as he walked on, reaching his door in record time only to push it open and sashay through- followed by Deadlock.

Thankfully, the General was polite enough to close the door behind him, even if he slammed it with more force than truly necessary.

“-and just WHERE IN THE HELL DID YOU GET OFF, MOUTHIN’ OFF TO ME LIKE THAT- ARE YOU PAYIN’ ATTENTION?!”

“No.”

Deadlock’s voice choked off into silence as he stared flatly at Perceptor, who was pouring himself a glass of dark wine with a bitter laugh, “I don’t care what part of your ego my assuredness bruised, Sir Deadlock. The fact is, I would destroy both you AND your brother with little more than a flick of the wrist and a twitch of the hand.”

Perceptor sipped at his glass of wine, his good eye locked on Deadlock and vicious in the frigid burn it exuded, “Because looking at the face you both wear fills me with utter, total contempt.”

“Surprised you can actually see my face, you glorified faefucker.”

“Such vulgar, lewd language- how unbecoming a man of your station.”, said Perceptor flatly, swirling the wine in his glass, “Not that I expected much out of you, knowing your brother.”

“Stop fuckin’ comparin’ me t’him- we’re two DIFFERENT people, you half blind little pest!”

“Not as different as you think, you blade-swinging brute.”, snapped Perceptor back.

Deadlock walked up to him, until there was less than an arm’s length between them, and leaned close to Perceptor’s face to growl his words with a flash of fangs, “I c’n assure you, mage; we’re two totally different bastards, of very different calibers.”

“Then prove it.”, breathed Perceptor, unwavering, as he set down his wineglass.

Deadlock’s hand moved, grabbing the edge of the leather chestplate Perceptor wore and pulling up to bring the necromancer to his toetips.

“I’d kill you right now if it wasn’t for my Lord’s orders, cretin.”, he hissed, vicious and hateful as he gave a light shake.

Perceptor smiled, frigid and dead on his face as a rattle sounded into the room. A folded section of silk rose from the bed; cloth falling away to show a Grimmoire- it’s lodged Seeing Eye and oath-lock twitching grotesquely. Deadlock released Perceptor as the tome flitted and shuddered to Perceptor’s slowly outstretched hand- the oath-lock of children’s pinky fingers tightening and creaking as it begged to unlatch.

“You are welcome to try, Deadlock of the Dead End.”, murmured the necromancer, “But whatever would the things haunting you say, knowing your went against their pleas?”

Whispers hummed to life, surrounding them in the well-lit room. It was no horror scene, with lightning flashing and candles whispering into nothingness like in the old fables- no. The room was warm and cozy, bright and alive-

Even as the whines of the dead began to rise.

Deadlock dropped into a ready stance, taking a step back as Perceptor took a step forward.

“If anyone in this room will meet their maker- it will be you, General. Now begone. I’m tired of your posturing. Go, warn Drift and your King.”

A hideous scowl twisted Perceptor’s face.

“Because I have not forgotten the ones who forced my hand.”

Deadlock ran- the sound of soft bells following him as Perceptor laughed in tune with the chimes. He bolted through the halls until he nearly slid to a stop in front of Megatron’s quarters, shouldering the door open to show his Lord laughing with Starscream perched upon one scarred thigh.

They both looked to the General in curiosity.

A swallow, of nerves or anger perhaps.

“We can’t keep the necromancer in this palace.”, said Deadlock, “We’re tempting fate- YOUR fate, Megatron. He’s a walking vendetta; and I’m powerful afraid you may be in danger.”

Starscream made a noise of annoyance as he was moved so the King could rise to his feet.

“Tell me everything you know.”, was the rumbled order. Deadlock snapped a salute, and began to speak.

Megatron listened, nodding every so often- until the mention of Turmoil, and of Perceptor’s preferred weapons. Starscream’s hand went to his narrow chest as he stared aghast and disgusted and Deadlock swallowed hard.

“… Bring me your brother- and Optimus of the Primal Lands. This is something that must be sorted for the safety of all. I will not have revenge be the fuel of what is supposed to be a peaceful gathering.”

“What of Xaaron?”, asked Starscream, “He is clearly the leader of the Scholars- surely he-”

“He cannot help us here.”, said Megatron flatly, “Even though he leads the Scholars, he clearly does not control them. Why else would two of his own be permitted to fjord depths best left alone; either he did not know and doesn’t care- or he knew, and sanctioned it.”

Deadlock nodded, pulling a whistle from a hidden pocket and sounding two sharp notes in rapid succession. Two soldiers trotted into the room from the hall, and orders were dispersed in Deadlock’s typical drawl before they saluted and faded back out into the hallways of the Palace.

“How did you discover this information?”, asked Megatron when all three were alone again.

“Pieced together, mostly. Drift told me of his experiences with Perceptor, and what he witnessed in the Wreckers; And a… conversation or two with both Brainstorm first and Perceptor after filled in a few more gaps.”

“I see.”

Megatron fell quiet, curious and sever in expression until Drift’s voice sounded.

“The HELL is going on, I was ASLEEP-”

“Silence, Master-at-Arms Drift. This is no gallivant with young Rodimus, this is a time for stoic attention as befitting your station-”

“Optimus, welcome.”, rumbled Megatron as the fellow royal entered the room, flanked by Prowl and Drift, “Some… worrying news has come to light involving one of the Scholars linked to your soldiers.”

“Oh?”, asked Optimus, switching from lofty nobility to concerned soldier in a moment, “How do you mean? Have the Wreckers broken something already?”

“Not quite.”

“Then what?”

“He is not entirely a Wrecker, I theorize. More like a… lent soul, to them.”

Prowl suddenly straightened, and Drift glared at Deadlock, who shrugged.

“There is a worry Perceptor seeks revenge for his… unfortunate accident.”, said Megatron, “Due to it being at the hands of one of my own, who is thankfully no longer with us. A lapse in judgment, allowing him rank and power.”

“I see, then what shall be done?”

“I wish to speak with him, as well as the one among you who assigned him to what so clearly seems to be an attempt to remove him from this world.”

Silence.

Prowl gawked for a moment, before looking away. Deadlock narrowed his eyes before speaking up.

“Got somethin’ to say, Praxian?”

“Not to the likes of you.”, was the monotone answer, “Perceptor is a scholar of Altihex, and as such is under the jurisdiction of Xaaron, not Optimus.”

“But he was assigned to your unit, the Wreckers. Why would you assign a known necromancer to a death squad as a healer?”, asked Megatron quietly, “And moreover, why would you not rescind the decision once said unit showed blatant cowardice and left him for dead, knowing the kind of reactions this could trigger?”

Optimus looked shocked, turning to Prowl, “What is he speaking of, Strategist? You told me Perceptor was a voluntary assignment, lent from Altihex to prevent the loss of life. What is all this talk of dark magic?”

Drift’s glare changed direction, from Deadlock to Prowl, “Strategist, you told me Optimus was fully aware of the happenings surrounding Perceptor’s…. incident.”

Deadlock got the feeling he’d put something in motion that was definitely going to cause trouble later. Megatron watched, face locked in an almost fatherly frown as he raised his eyebrows nearly to his hairline.

“Optimus, one King to another- I would suggest having a long discussion with your second-in-command… And emphasize the worth of the lives of your people to him.”

Optimus seemed to freeze over, nodding his agreement as Prowl swallowed hard and shot a dirty look towards Deadlock before excusing himself and calmly fleeing through the door. A mutter of pardons requested and then Perceptor was dragged in- looking a bit worse for wear, all things considered. He yanked his arm free of the guard’s grip, spitting something in low Altihexian before turning to glare at Drift and then Deadlock.

“What is the MEANING of this?!”

“We have reason to believe you are a threat to my safety, Sir Perceptor.”, was Megatron’s answer; his voice was level and calm, the rumbling of a passing and forgotten storm, “Due to your current state being the fault of one of my now-since-removed Officers.”

“With all due respect, Lord Megatron- it is remarkably bold of you to think that if I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t be.”, said Perceptor flatly, “And while my current predicament was indeed partially due to the actions of Turmoil, it began much earlier than that- due to the death of my line save me from your revolution.”

An awkward silence over the room.

“I have long since grown accustomed to the inability of Kings to admit where they have gone wrong- I have served beneath Optimus the Blind, after all.”

The silence grew heavier.

“The only men in this room in any kind of danger from me are Drift and Deadlock; I assure you. Were I in the business of King-killing you and Optimus would already be dead.”

He straightened his clothing, his gaze harsh and deadpan, “Now. Have a good evening, sir. I look forward to sending your General back to you in pieces- And I look forward to leaving nothing of Drift for Optimus to mourn.”

A frigid glance over his shoulder at the king in question before he looked forward, nodded his head in a bow, and turned on his heel. Everyone present watched as Perceptor stalked out of the room, clearly in a high temper at such an interruption.

Megatron sighed heavily, “...Well, at least his honesty is admirable.”

Deadlock looked at him flatly, “Sir, y’do realize he jus’ threatened two officers.”

Megatron, looking slowly to Drift, “And did either of them deserve it, perchance?”

Drift winced, avoiding Megatron’s gaze as the group collectively sighed.

Starscream shrugged, “While a necromancer with a romance-based grudge is no laughing matter; it will certainly make for some excellent fireworks over the next few days.”

“At least wait until the day of to bet on my death, would you?”, snipped Deadlock.

“Why? I’ve been praying for it for years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com


	6. Showdown

The next day’s battles were much the same. A closer eye was kept on Perceptor, to judge the validity of his being deemed a threat.

A judgment that proved to be an excellent decision. From simple things such as poisonous weapons, tactical undead, and various degrees of vaguely eldritch slime to the near removal of a beating heart at the ghostly hands of a living book- the once simply defined competition rapidly descended into t a kind of darkly comical chaos that sent Megatron into fits of barking laughter.

“His showmanship is perfect for Kaon, I MUST admit!”, he bellowed through belly-deep laughter, “The near-fatal outcomes aside, I can’t help but like the waifish little archer.

Deadlock, angrily peeling thick and dark sludge fro his armor, scowled at his leader, “COURSE IT’S FUNNY TA YOU, YOU DIDN’T GET BACKHANDED BY A TENTACLE!”

“One would think with your catlike reflexes, you would have dodged far easier after giving lip during an active battle.”, chided Starscream, his tone clearly an act covering his internal glee at the General being put in his place, “Have you no respect for the battlefield? For shame, Deadlock.”

“Shut the hell up, birdy, or I’m gonna feed you your own feathers.”

“Bad kitty, no fish for you at supper.”

“Oh go to h-”

“Be quiet, both of you!”, said Megatron in a hurry, “The next match is starting- and they’re allowing Drift and Perceptor to face off!”

All three fell silent as they turned to watch. With names announced, Perceptor stepped forward with bow cast aside at the entry of the arena. Drift swallowed hard, looking up once towards Optimus, who crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in answer before the Master-At-Arms winced again and stepped forward.

“This was no doubt requested.”, mused Megatron, “Look at the coldness of Optimus’s blessing- the way Drift walks like a graveyard cat on the hunt. This is more than a friendly match- this is a punishment.”

Deadlock gripped the hilt of his scimitar, growling low in his throat as he watched.

The leader of the event, taking over for Starscream, raised his hands and wished the warriors good fortune before a whipcrack of light flashed and he reappeared behind the closing gate that sealed the arena off.

There was no sound, save for a whispered breeze that Deadlock swore carried a mother’s wail on it.

“I will give you one chance to stand down, Drift.”

The words sliced through the tension like a hot blade, a collective gasp and cloud of whispers beginning to rise.

“I cannot guarantee you will come out of this unscathed, so you will receive one chance at mercy from me.”, Perceptor continued, “It’s far more than I ever received from YOU.”

Drift blinked, then shook his head. Perceptor shrugged.

“Very well.”

Deadlock had to pull himself back from jumping into the arena when Drift moved first. He did, however, bolt forward to lean over the railing and see firsthand how everything fell apart. Perceptor stood firm, closing his good eye as Drift rushed up to him, blade drawn- the shine of steel in the sun as it whipped up in a strike.

Drift’s hands seemed to lose their grip after the blade carved a thin but visible line across Perceptor’s chest- making armor fall from his shoulders and his silken shirt beneath to twitch limply as the wind suddenly died.

The blade clattered to the arena floor, the steel blade bubbling and rippling and hissing at the traces of black sludge clinging to it- the metal being eaten away. And the Perceptor struck- literally.

His fist slammed into Drift’s face at full force, creating a red blossom as the Master-at-Arms’s nose cracked sideways from the blow and his eyes rolled back when Perceptor’s second fist slammed into once-artful cheekbones and flattened one side of them.

Deadlock stared in shock as Drift dropped like a stone in a heap, a low wheeze escaping him as Perceptor stared down with a smile, and raised his curled fists in front of his marked chest- Showing the carved bone coverings on them like brass knuckles that glimmered like polished ivory.

Megatron stood, a grin on his face, and clapped slowly- followed by a slow rise of applause from around the arena as people began to follow suit. Deadlock watched as Drift was gathered up from the floor of the arena and hauled out- arms over the shoulders of the healers who tried to speak to him to gauge his consciousness.

Perceptor turned, looking up to Deadlock, and smiled too wide. An arm over his midsection, he bowed mockingly; the sleeve of his robe billowing softly though no wind blew anymore.

With a growl, and hearing the announcer’s bellow of his name, he leapt over the railing to land with a heavy thud. His boots left hard prints in the ground and he rose slowly; the lithe grace of a challenged lion as he bared his teeth in a snarl. Perceptor took a half step back, smiling as his free hand moved outwards with a flick of his wrist. The ground cracked, thick ivy pushing upwards and dying as the air hit it only for a heavy tome to slide free of dying vines.

Perceptor beckoned it to hover before him, not breaking eye contact with Deadlock. The tome rattled, and Deadlock hissed, “Finally brought it out, huh deadhead?”

“It was always out, General. It simply knows how to be subtle. Unlike YOU.”

Deadlock circled the necromancer, using his physical ability to his advantage as reaching mourning glory vines spat forth from sunsetting shadows to snatch at his arms and legs like so many twisted fingers. Nearing the necromancer was difficult, and something needing careful management so as not to misstep into the clutches of a bad tempered funeral arrangements.

“The closer you get, the easier you are to catch, Deadlock.”, jeered the necromancer, his sightless yet Sighted eye locked onto the General, “Be very careful, I’m not your average soldier.”

“Neither am I, necromancer.”

He stepped in shadow, feeling the mourning glories winding up his legs like racing cockroaches in a crypt before his hand flashed out- nothing but a glittering shine to give a warning before a slim-bladed throwing knife lodged itself in the Seeing Eye on the cover of the Grimmoire.

An unholy screech rang out, a two tone harmony as the book dropped out of the air to scatter into so many graveyard insects as Perceptor howled in pain as his own Dead Eye seemed to split open and add a new scar to the patch of scar tissue around it. A crack sounded as the necromancer’s fist closed on air and Deadlock snarled as his knee bent sideways at a sharp angle and the vines flung him aside before crumbling into dust.

Silence reigned as Megatron drew to his full height and bellowed, “A DRAW.”

The announcer looked to him as Starscream smiled at Megatron’s side and stepped forward, “Blood has been shed, and both competitor’s are rendered unable to walk under their own power. A fitting end to the first of hopefully many competitions to come. Will the healers please clear the arena, the battles are over!”

Megatron laughed, “Now we celebrate the show of skills performed for us here, a better show I have not seen since the days of the Gladiators!”

Cheers began piping up, soon escalating into roared and raucous cries of joy as Perceptor dropped to his knees, gagging softly as he felt his Dead Eye shift and heard the whine of his wounded Grimmoire in his ears.

Deadlock groaned, looking down to his leg- sliced up by unnatural thorns made my magic not nature and his knee swollen against armor and flopped down with a huff. He was hauled up onto his good leg, leaning on the healer who carefully supported him before glancing over to Perceptor being pulled to his feet by Xaaron and Brainstorm; who began carefully inspecting the necromancer’s face.

He looked away, focusing on limped steps out of the arena. When he finally could sit down, it was beside Drift, who winced and looked over to him.

“Let me guess, mourning glories?”

“Didn’t know the damn things had rose thorns.”

“They don’t, that’s Percy’s little touch.”

Deadlock swore as his legs was righted with a sharp motion, feeling his brother’s arm over his shoulders, “I thought necromancers controlled the DEAD, not living things.”

“The arena was once a garden, before Kaon bred warmongers.”, said Drift, “So that greenery WAS dead, on some level. And as such, fell victim to Perceptor’s Call.”

“I gotta admit- it was a fun skirmish.”, said Deadlock, feeling the cool touch of magic winding through his damaged leg, “Haven’t had an exercise like that in a long while- most of my opponents are idiot brutes or braindead monks with kitchen knives bound in leather.”

Whack.

“OW.”

Drift glared, “Watch who you call a braindead monk, brother-dear.”

“Comin’ from the one who leapt into danger, I find that rich.”

Drift sighed, leaning back carefully as he winced. His face was still slightly swollen, and he looked to have already been lectured by Optimus himself. They sat in silence until the healer looked to Deadlock, murmuring for him to walk easy and not strain his knee any more than he needed to. He huffed, and Drift rolled his eyes before Deadlock dragged him to his feet.

“C’mon, let’s raid the party favors. At the very least, we can sneak off for a pint if the night gets too boring.”

Drift snorted, then winced and put a hand gingerly to his nose as Deadlock cackled a laugh and pulled him along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com


	7. Strange Rivalries

The attention at the celebrations was nice. Deadlock and Drift stuck near each other, as they often did- sending smiles (or smirks and winks) at anyone who stared a little too long at the twins. When Perceptor entered the grand hall, a ripple of silence interrupted the festivities. People glanced in fear at his wine-colored robes, and the gauntlet-rings adoring a few of his natural fingers with hooked clawtips, and the half veil over one side of his face.

Brainstorm cackled, high and loud and with a swirl of blues and golds and near-translucent white, and fluttered over to one of the Wreckers; who’s eyepatch mimicked Perceptor’s veil in a strange kind of synchronicity.

Perceptor strode in, the velvet of his robes shimmering like cold blood in the light of the room as Drift and Deadlock watched him pass by. Drift huffed, rolling his eyes only to jolt when he noticed his twin’s sly grin beginning to creep forth.

“Lock, no.”

“What?”

“No. Full stop. I know that look, don’t try and play innocent.”

“Whassa matter, Drift? Scared I’ll be the favorite this time?”

Drift flared immediately, sputtering in shock as Deadlock laughed and waved a hand dismissively, “I’m gonna go talk t’him; have fun bein’ eye candy.”

Drift’s jaw dropped as he watched his brother weave through the crowd to where Perceptor had secluded himself on the main balcony with a glass of wine and silence.

Deadlock was quiet as he crept up, keeping his peripheral open when he began seeing more moths than normal flutter in and out of sight. Moths with strange markings, with wings too dull to be alive or real. Perceptor raised a hand, one of the gauntlet-rings glimmering as a moth alighted upon it with a twitch and hum of its wings.

“Stealth isn’t your strongpoint, General.”

“It is when I want it to be, Necromancer.”, was the easy answer, “Friends of yours?”

“Moths are carriers of spirits and guides to the damned seeking retribution; didn’t you know?”

Deadlock scoffed, “I’m not well-versed in Primal, Percy.”

“It’s Perceptor.”

“Whatever.”

Perceptor turned, a few more moths gently alighting upon him and humming their wings as though in wariness as the necromancer stared in disdain, “What brings you to pester me this evening.”

“Compliments, surprisin’ly.”

“...Compliments?”

Deadlock nodded, his vulpine grin dangerous in the nightdark cut through by moonbeams, “Been a while since I had to think on my feet like that- ‘S a shame Megatron called for an end when I was just warmin’ up.”

“Warming up is a funny way of saying ‘using your ace too early’, Deadlock.”, said the mage in flat amusement, “What were you going to follow up stabbing a Tome with; a dance number?”

“Very funny. I’d’ve thought ‘a somethin’.”

“Ye Gods, it thinks now? Contact the press.”

Deadlock rolled his eyes, “No wonder you’re just the belle a’ the ball t’night, with your sparklin’ personality.”

Perceptor’s lips twitched at one corner, the ghost of a grin, “You’d know all about sparkling personalities, you tin toy soldier.”

“Ouch, right in the rank. I’m kill’t and also murdered.”

Deadlock continued his assured steps up to Perceptor, standing far too close to the necromancer before leaning to his level.

“How about we try all this again, huh? I did say I wasn’t nothin’ like Drift.”, he purred, noting Perceptor’s hard swallow, “Allow me t’prove it, hm?”

“Are you propositioning me?”

“Am I?”, he teased, leaning back enough to allow Perceptor room to breathe, “Maybe I just wanna get t’know you- unless you wanna be propositioned, pretty.”

Deadlock reached up to take hold of Perceptor’s chin- only for his wrist to be grabbed tightly by a decorated hand. He chuckled at the little display, tugging once to test the grip before yanking hard and hooking an arm around Perceptor’s waist. The wineglass clattered to the ground, spilling deep red like a bloodstain as Deadlock caught the pretty little necromancer in a hard kiss- edged with frost and bourbon.

Perceptor’s free hand, having lost its hold on the wineglass, moved to Deadlock’s chest to dig tips of silver claws into the skin just enough to leave pinprick marks as he groaned from the General’s less than gentle manner of things. When their lips separated, he let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and gave a dazed blink.

“Your quarters or mine?”

Perceptor’s face brightened, and he looked away.

“...Mine.”, he hissed through gritted teeth, “And don’t you disappoint me.”

With that he pushed away from Deadlock with a huff, walking briskly away with a flutter of velvet robes and muttered swearing under his breath. Deadlock grinned, turning to catch Drift’s eye and laugh at the enraged glare he received in return. He shrugged before taking a different route through the crowd to exit the grand hall- whistling to himself as he strode down hallways to where the necromancer waited.

Boldly, perhaps rudely, he didn’t bother to knock, instead letting himself into the necromancer’s room with a wide grin and a sly expression. He nudged the door shut behind him with a heel, laughing quietly at the angry expression the necromancer wore as they face each other surrounded by tension like shoreline fog.

“I hate how much your face resembles his.”

“The resemblance is only physical, pretty, and stops at the waist.”, was Deadlock’s arrogant answer as he strode forward to loosen the near-minuscule buttons holding his shirt closed. It hung open, showing dark skin and bright scars and Perceptor swallowed hard again as he stared at the display.

“Somethin’ the matter?”

“I only want this because you look like him.”, lied the mage, “I might call you his name.”

“I doubt it, I really do.”

Deadlock roughly caught Perceptor’s chin- standing too close already and Perceptor wondered when that happened- and then the General tilted the Necromancer’s face, sealing lips together in another rough and hungry kiss. The coaxing of Deadlock’s tongue eased Perceptor’s lips apart only for the mage’s mouth to be conquered like so many legions of the past and making knees nearly give from the spike in temperature.

Deadlock growled into the kiss, arm around the mage’s waist again and dragging him closer- to press body to body if not skin to skin and feel Perceptor shudder and try to squirm as he tried to hide his arousal.

The kiss broke, like old hearts, and Deadlock tilted Perceptor’s head to nip at the necromancer’s pulse with teeth just this side of too sharp. A groan was dragged free of the squirming warriormage as decorated hands tugged angrily at Deadlock’s clothing in an attempt to remove before the General barked a laugh and released Perceptor.

Deadlock’s eyes never left the other man’s; keeping gazes locked as clothing was shed in slowly removed layers- Perceptor subconsciously licked his lips, shivering when Deadlock rested his hands on his own belt.

“Enjoyin’ the show?”

“Perhaps.”, was the breathy answer as Perceptor untied his own robes and let them slide away, the jewelry on his hands landing in the velvet pile as well. Nothing but the close-fitting pants he wore beneath the robes was left and he smiled as Deadlock’s eyes lit up, “Tear them and suffer consequences.”

“If you don’t split ‘em first, that is.”, chided Deadlock, once again advancing on his partner for the night. Another kiss, more a battle than affection, and Perceptor was being nudged backwards towards the heavy bed draped in luxurious furs and a duvet filled with eiderdown.

He gasped as Deadlock got him down, and held him down- and his temper flared at how he was being manhandled- regardless of how much he enjoyed it. Once again, slim (but thankfully thornless) creeper vines crept forth from the shadows, dripping rose petals before snapping out to cinch around Deadlock’s throat and squeeze gently.

The General made a sound of surprise as Perceptor grinned and reached out, snatching at the greenery and allowing it to anchor into his wrist instead of his skin.

“Old graves, older souls.”, he laughed, “Everything is a weapon when you can call Death itself- because everything dies.”

Deadlock raised his eyebrows, his voice a mellow growl when he spoke now, “I’ll give you the kinda Death you won’t be able to wave away, magician.”

Perceptor’s back arched as hips met; grinding against each other through their remaining clothing. His very spine seemed to rattle- how long had he gone without such contact. He tugged on the makeshift leash, forcing Deadlock to lean down for another of those envenomed kisses as Perceptor’s veil slid off of his face to collapse in a tiny silken heap by his temple.

The sound of cloth tearing apart, and a cold breeze over Perceptor’s hips.

“Bastard.”

“Got you hotter and you know it.”

Deadlock lunged, catching the vine in his teeth and tearing to the side to snap it easily. Perceptor made a shocked noise- devolving into a shaky moan as a hand circled his cock and squeezed carefully. Another arch of the mage’s back and a rough laugh from Deadlock as he began slow, torturous strokes.

Perceptor thrashed, gasping curses in between choked moans as his legs wrapped around Deadlock’s waist in a shivery grip. Hips bucked against the stimulation and already a too-warm little knot tied itself up in Perceptor’s stomach and made him bite hard on his bottom lip.

Deadlock’s hand released him, much to mage’s annoyance, only to spread his hand against Perceptor’s pelvis- the bastard’s thumb brushing against the shaft and making Perceptor shudder and swear again. Then the hand was gone, and the sound of a drawer opening made the necromancer’s good eye aim downward over his own scars to see what the General was up to.

Opening a drawer in the small table next to bed- pulling free a tiny bottle; not unlike what would contain perfume.

“If there’s one thing Megatron is good at, it’s makin’ sure you’ve got ALL the necessities.”

“Bold of him to make such assumptions.”

“But correct, in the end.”, laughed Deadlock, flexing his hand and letting the knuckles pop. Perceptor propped himself up on his elbows, trying to ignore the fact he was stripped bare with only the remnants of his archer’s breeches left on his legs.

He swallowed hard, looking away with his face hot at the sound of crystal on crystal as the vial was opened- the air smelled sweet and heavy all at once, like temple incense or springtide gardens. He wanted to glare at Deadlock when he heard the snickering- but then his legs were suddenly tugged and Deadlock dipped out of his sightline.

The General’s knees hit the floor gently, and yet loud enough to echo in Perceptor’s chest. A warm tongue lapped at the necromancer’s swollen cock and made Perceptor’s arms give out unexpectedly, dropping him flat on his back with a soft cry as that tongue laved over a darkened head. Perceptor brought a hand to his mouth, biting hard on the side of his palm when Deadlock’s lips pressed a kiss over the cooling trail of his tongue.

“Ba-astard.”

“Hm.”

Deadlock was not one to tease for too long- eager to show Perceptor just who the better twin was. The General hummed as the mage’s cockhead slipped past roughened lips and he worked lower over the shaft in cruel measurements; easing more and more of the length closer and closer to his throat as a slick fingertip snuck closer and closer to it’s own target.

Perceptor writhed under the ministrations of Deadlock’s mouth; his hips bucked and rocked and he inhaled in jittery, sharp bursts. His good eye rolled back; and when he felt the press of a single fingertip, he couldn’t help the squeaked yelp that burst from him.

Deadlock didn’t laugh- but he hummed easily around his mouthful and sent lightning up and down Perceptor’s spine. The mage cried out, hands moving to bury fingers in Deadlock’s hair as his legs opened farther to welcome the General’s shoulders. Perceptor curled, panting as Deadlock swallowed hard before he moved.

A hard suck as his head bobbed up only to tease with a cruel tongue as his lips slid back down. Perceptor’s eye watered, his abdomen twitching as his pulse thudded in his cock against Deadlock’s tongue.

He swore to gods known and forgotten, whispering bittersweet praises and near-fond curses as his nails dragged lightly over Deadlock’s scalp from where fingers were buried in thick braids.

And then Deadlock’s finger, having slowly eased inside of Perceptor, curled.

A sharp wail and a near-convulsion and Perceptor felt his entire body tighten before he moaned weakly; his legs trembled as he spilled down Deadlock’s throat. The mage’s jaw hung just a little slack as Deadlock swallowed with a rumble like a purr in his chest before letting Perceptor’s cock fall free from a pleased smile.

“Bit of a short fuse, darlin’.”

“Shut u-up.”

Deadlock’s finger curled again and Perceptor’s body bent with it, the necromancer gasping hoarsely as he felt his cock twitch form the stimulation. A low growl as Deadlock’s finger slowly pumped in and out of the writhing form on the wide bed, the grin only increasing as a second finger joined the first and made Perceptor wind his hands into the covers of the bed. Deadlock turned his head, pressing warm kisses against Perceptor’s tense thigh and leaving behind orchid petal marks to sting the skin.

Perceptor pulled hard at the bedcovers, his hips rocking in time with the motions of Deadlock’s hands. Another finger was added, and Perceptor hissed softly as his body tightened around the intrusion, causing all movement to still until he was able to relax again.

He moaned thickly as he was stretched, toes beginning to curl as his breath came in short bursts once again. His cheeks burned, his gaze was lidded and drowsy as Deadlock’s fingers sank in easily to the last knuckle.

The General smiled, licking his lips like a wolf with a lamb, and slid his fingers free before standing. The clatter of a belt buckle, and the shuffle of pants being tugged open made Perceptor squirm with the suspense. That scent of incense again, and a soft sigh from Deadlock made the mage once again look to the General.

Deadlock’s eyes were lidded, one hand on Perceptor’s thigh while the other himself to hardness- a shiver and a groan his cue to cease his motions before amber eyes flicked up to look at Perceptor.

“Enjoying the show?”

“You and your… exhibitionism.”, was the whispered answer as Perceptor rocked his hips, “Now let’s see how unlike Drift you are.”

“With pleasure.”

Perceptor let himself go limp on the bed when he felt the head of Deadlock’s cock against him; sighing softly as the General pushed slowly into him- unexpected given his lewd mannerisms of earlier. Perceptor bit his lip as Deadlock’s hips began a slow rolling rhythm, easing himself deeper into the mage’s slimmer body as Perceptor’s grip began to once again tighten in the mussed bedcovers.

Perceptor’s mouth sat open, just enough for him to pant softly as Deadlock’s loosened buckle rattled its noise into the air alongside the sound of skin against skin. He writhed and moaned as each thrust bottomed out against his thighs and Deadlock’s still-slick hand curled around Perceptor’s cock to begin stroking in a counter-rhythm to each thrust.

Perceptor’s voice sounded, clear and clarion as his legs opened as far as they could, lifting his hips just enough for Deadlock to make the mage see stars with each thrust. Already Perceptor could feel his pulse echo in his pelvis, and he whispered pleas and praises alongside curses as he turned his head to nestle his face against the thick furs that covered the bed.

Deadlock’s name slipped free of kiss-swollen lips in broken syllables, making the General bare his teeth in a fox’s grin as he leaned into each thrust further- nearly bending Perceptor in half as he seemed intent on pounding the necromancer through the bead with hard but slow thrusts of sturdy hips.

Climax crept closer, slowly, slow and all at once and Perceptor’s back creaked as his head pressed against the bed- feeling his cock throb in Deadlock’s grip until lines of warmth draped over the mage’s stomach. And still Deadlock’s hips moved. Perceptor forced his good eye to stay open, to watch the General’s face with a blush high on scuffed cheekbones.

When Deadlock shuddered with a hoarse groan, Perceptor choked on the insults he wanted to fire off- instead exhaling the General’s name like a forbidden prayer.

Deadlock was nothing like Drift- he had been correct.

But not in the way he had claimed.

There was something about the low light framing his rough edges that made Perceptor’s eye roll back as his nails (dull as they were from digging gravesoil once upon a time) tear into the bedspread and leave little pinholes as his toes curled painfully.

Pressed close and letting himself partially drape against Perceptor’s bare chest, Deadlock sighed in a content way before tilting his head and pressing a kiss to Perceptor’s jaw.

The necromancer swallowed down his wince- feeling a pang race through an empty chest-

Empty in more ways than one.

Hidden in the dark spots of the room, a Grimmoire hissed and blinked a scarred eye.

But it was outside the door that a bruised monk let himself entertain thoughts far darker than the hiding place of a cursed book.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> This work was commissioned by the-nightingales-song.tumblr.com.


End file.
